The War of the Universes
by awilla the hun
Summary: A Warhammer 40K/War of the Worlds Crossover novel version i.e. 1898. I cannot say more for fear of revealing the plot, but please read, enjoy or not and review!
1. The Time Machine

Well, I don't believe that this has been done before, so it is probably best just to get writing before I note down the sheer insanity of this piece. I'll get to it, I suppose. And I apologise if I misinterpreted the Tau race. I tried to portray them as being like our own modern world, and yet different in many ways. Henley is in the South East of England, by the way. For a map of it, see this link:

http://maps. this is the 1898 novel, not the Tom Cruise one.

**The 41****st**** Millennium, T'au**

It was a normal day on T'au. The suns shone brightly in the sky, making an almost dazzling glare when combined with bright white buildings. Aircars and busses buzzed and hummed hither and thither, carrying Earth Caste workers to factories and farms, or Water Caste bureaucrats to their offices. The air was clean, courtesy to the modern plasma reactors rather than filthy oil and coal power stations. All in all, Shas Vre Montyr thought to himself, there were worse places to be summoned to.

The tau was tall by the standards of his race, and well muscled, but was oddly pale skinned. This came of spending too much time out of the sun, driving a crisis suit to face the enemy. It was a wrench to be called away from battle, of course, but he was quite sure that his hunter cadre could handle the Orks on Trans'vaal. And, although he hated to admit it, his doctor had been diagnosing him as having "battlesuit frenzy"; a psychological condition which drove the victim to bloodlust whenever the suit was donned. Whilst he enjoyed fighting, Montyr could tell that it would spell an end to his days of commanding troops if he succumbed. And he had no desire to die laughing manically in the middle of the enemy lines, enjoying himself immensely, only to be torn to pieces by gunfire. That wasn't the Tau way.

Montyr looked at the others standing with him. There was a water caste man by the name of Por El My'en, who was busily looking at his data slate and chronometer alternately through his holographic spectacles. "The girl's late!" he said, petulantly. "Five minutes of my time wasted! I may as well have stayed at the office and tell him that I wasn't available! I have an important meeting to attend with some Fio caste unionists, damn it!" He had once been a diplomat of some standing, but had now sank into the worlds of commerce and business. My'en was bald, neatly dressed and slightly plump around the middle.

"I am quite sure that it will be attended to in due course," the third tau said, silencing My'en. Aun Or'es was sitting calmly on a seating drone, looking for all the world like an ancient statue of the first Ethereal. "Although it is in the greater good for Fio caste workers to receive pay and superior accommodation."

"As it is for money to be used to buy more machinery and material for the next great expansion. I had to make forty five gun ships yesterday, would you believe that? Forty five!" The protest was half hearted, but real. The pair of them were from very different spheres of political thought: the ethereal for making life better for the common Tau, the merchant for spreading the greater good across the galaxy. Montyr wished that they would actually decided on policy once and for all. Politics was far above his head. It was the soldier's lot, he had found out long ago, to serve his commander and get on with life, not to question orders.

"Fio El Shovah will see you now," the drone droned politely over the intercom. "She apologises for keeping you waiting, but she had last minute preparations to look in to."

"Last minute preparations indeed!" My'en muttered, but followed the others into the office.

Fio El Shovah was a tallish woman with a disorganised topknot and an easy smile. "It's an honour, Aun O," she said, slamming her fist into her robe clad chest in salute to the Ethereal. The others did the same, and then sat down at the appropriate chairs. After offering drinks, and finding that the Fire caste veteran was quite happy with a large mug of Cacoa, the Ethereal steepled his long, slender fingers on the small, cluttered desk. Data slates were stacked in a great, tottering pile, and the cogitator unit was covered with paper cups which had once contained some form of hot drink.

"What is it that you have brought us here for, El Shovah?" he asked politely. "I am quite sure that it is for the Greater good-" the tau all saluted again- "but we are still ignorant of its nature. Even I, as an Etheral, have never heard of the… Goldwing project." He pronounced the name slowly, one syllable at the time, as if he had never said it before.

"That would be because that it has been kept top secret, Aun O," El Shovah said, with a note of regret in her voice. "Only Aun'Va himself knows of its existence. Along with us humble scientists, of course." She laughed shortly. "It is vitally important to our expansion, though," she went on. "It could potentially neutralise the Imperium entirely, and possibly even hand us the galaxy on a silver platter!"

There was a stunned silence, save from Montyr. He had heard this said of too many Tau weapons before. The Burst cannon, they had said, would annihilate enemy infantry in moments. But then they met space marines, who wore power armour and shrugged off volley after volley of fire. No matter, the scientists said, we have Vespids with neutron guns! They'll obliterate the enemy armour! But the space marines brought up land speeders with assault cannon, and the Vespids were shredded in a great volley of bullets. And so on it went. "What does this damned gun do?" he asked, preparing himself for a long, tedious description of the effects of plasma, electrons and neutrons flying over huge ranges with massive stopping power, but still inferior to most Imperial Guard artillery pieces.

"It's not a gun, Montyr," El Shovah said, tantalizingly.

"Terror – my apologies, Aun O- take me, but what is it?" Montyr was now shouting impatiently. "A sword? We've got Kroot with better weapons. Missiles? Warp Travel?"

"Give that tau a prize!" El Shovah said triumphantly. The Ethereal inclined his head politely, signalling her to continue.

My'en rolled his eyes heavenwards. "We tried that before," he said. "I invested in shares for it! But we lacked magicians to get in properly. Our crews got eaten by… things." The merchant shuddered. He remembered his loss on the stock market well.

El Shovah nodded. "We found a side effect," she said. There was another dramatic pause. Montyr considered reaching for his pulse pistol and ordering her to tell all. "Namely, that security footage recorded one of our scientists meeting himself whilst getting on his airbus." Another dramatic pause. The three non scientists in the room tried to work it out for themselves. "It turned out that he had gone back in time."

My'en laughed. "Time travel? Oh, come now! We all hear of time travel in lurid science fiction novels written by out of luck Fio'saals, but not in this world of ours, surely?"

"That is incorrect, My'en," the Ethereal said. "There have been at least four recorded cases of Imperial vessels doing just that in warp travel. But please, continue, El Shovah."

The scientist nodded her thanks. "Anyway, my department got to work on it at once! It took five Tau'Cyr, four billion credits and two dead volunteers to perfect it. But finally, we managed it."

The Etheral sat up suddenly. "Ah, of course!" he said. The other two non scientists looked nonplussed. "We go to before the Imperium, and spread the Greater Good there!"

"Exactly! We'll need troops to do so-" El Shovah nodded at Montyr- "and a linguist."

My'en nodded proudly. "I was an expert," he said, "in the Imperial Gothic language. It cannot be so very different before the establishing of the Imperium of Man. I will need a secretary, of course-"

"You shall have one," Aun O said. "It is the Ethereal's responsibility to guide the expedition along the path of the greater good, and I shall do so with the greatest honour."

"Well… yeah." The scientist had clearly not had many dealings with the Ethereal, Montyr thought to himself. They often spoke in pompous and old fashioned terms. But he had a far more pressing issue.

"You say," he said, "that there were two deaths?"

"They were in an early version of our system," El Shovah said hastily. Perhaps a little to hasty for Montyr's liking. "This is far more advanced now. And we think… well, we know that it can carry far more than our previous one could!"

There were hesitant nods around the table. After more small talk, the meeting was adjourned, and, two days later, the expedition began.

**1904**

"No one would have believed in the last years of the nineteenth century that this world was being watched keenly and closely by intelligences greater than man's and yet as mortal as his own; that as men busied themselves about their various concerns they were scrutinised and studied, perhaps almost as narrowly as a man with a microscope might scrutinise the transient creatures that swarm and multiply in a drop of water. With infinite complacency men went to and fro over this globe about their little affairs, serene in their assurance of their empire over matter. It is possible that the infusoria under the microscope do the same. Yet across the gulf of space, minds that are to our minds as ours are to those of the beasts that perish, intellects vast and cool and unsympathetic, regarded this earth with envious eyes, and slowly and surely drew their plans against us. And then came the great disillusionment.

And yet, even fewer would have believed that, in times to come, other intelligences would be watching us, some human, some not so, and yet all greater than our own. Fewer still would have considered the possibility that they would desire to change our own world to fit their purposes. And so it was that, in the summer of 1902, they revealed themselves to us."

Quote taken from "A War of Time and Space: A History of the Contact Incident by one who has been through it" By H.G Wells.

I was walking the Chiltern Hills, around Henley on a Sunday afternoon, when the incident which would change the entire of the history of the human race and, ultimately, those of several others, came to our world.

That that day was to bear any great significance was entirely beyond my mind at the time. The sun was shining brightly, and the River Thames looked beautiful from the hills above, with small specks showing rowers enjoying the weather. I could just about see a small steam yacht chugging its way along, full of happy tourists with modern cameras. It was truly glorious weather, perfect for doing pretty much anything one desired. The local Aspect Park Golf Club was doing a fine business, and looking down I could see men dressed in their caps and plus fours going about their business quite happily, laughing as balls flew in utterly random directions. Church bells were ringing as the congregation filed out in their Sunday best. The world was utterly at peace, and I saw no reason for it not to be so.

Looking back on it now, I suppose that we had every reason to believe otherwise. We had all read reports in the papers of the strange green lights on Mars, and had heard of trouble in the Balkans and other such desolate parts of the world. But it all seemed so tranquil, so far away, that it seemed, much as I loathe the simile, as if it was on a different planet. Let the rebels fight, we told ourselves. We were all nice, and cosy, and safe, ensconced in leafy Berkshire, and nothing was going to take that away from us.

But, before going further with my account, and to bring a halt to this political ranting, I suppose that I must introduce myself to the reader. My name is Archibald Preston, a Doctor of Latin in Christ Church College, Oxford University, and even before that a Captain of Infantry serving in India and Cape Town. At the time of writing I was in my late fifties, a widower, and thoroughly pleased with life. I had made a reasonable fortune, and used it to settle down quite comfortably in the old Country. Every Sunday- in fact, most days when I didn't have to provide lectures- I would take up my walking stick and ramble around the country side, generally thinking about life, and marveling at the sheer niceness of the moment.

It was on one of these that I first espied the strange flying machine.

I heard it first. I had been mounting the crest of a hill, and then I happened to hear it: a queer humming sound, quiet yet audible. I first thought that it was a mosquito, or some such insect, but then common sense kicked in. I was not, I told myself, in India. There are no mosquitoes in England, and it was too early in the day even if they were. So, said my long buried practical instinct, it had to be something else.

I stopped walking and looked around me. There was nothing untoward: just fluffy white clouds, birds twittering serenely, a hot air balloon in the distance.

After a few seconds, I noticed that it was not a hot air balloon at all.

It appeared to be a small, wedge shaped craft, moving impossibly quickly through the air. And it seemed to be closing with me.

As it bore down on me, or so it seemed, I could make out more details. There seemed to be two men inside it, one of whom seemed to be driving it like a motor car, the other presumably acting as an observer.

Or, as my disturbed brain put it, as a gunner.

I turned and ran as quickly as I could.

The day suddenly seemed sinister. A bird, swooping down past me desperate flight, suddenly seemed like a vulture. The sun went behind a cloud, plunging everything into fell shadow. I tripped over a pothole and was sent sprawling into the dust. I scrambled to my feet and continued to run, frantically looking around.

I eventually arrived at Remenham, and I must have made a curious figure to onlookers. I was in a ragged state, hatless and panting. My face was dust covered and bloodstained from a graze. I looked deranged, I suppose. I panted about "A flying machine," and "men from mars." At some point I had made the connection between the queer lights, and the apparition in the skies.

I was put into a chair at the local pub, The Red Lion, and was handed a glass of beer from the sympathetic innkeeper. I thanked him, and drank it down, before paying him. I suspect that he thought me a drunkard.

Sitting at the inn, I began to consider the previous dangers to be a mere figment of my imagination. Was it impossible that it was just a human device, ingenious enough in its own way, but of simple terrestrial origin? The Wright Brothers, I had read with great interest, had developed such a thing in America. This could just be a coincidence of some kind.

Such were my thoughts as I made my way back to Henley, at a leisurely walking pace, stick in hand, and my mood returned to normal.

The next day, of course, it all changed forever.

Please Read and Review! The next chapter will be up soon.


	2. The Flying Machine

Now for the second part of the story. And, some questions need answering. Yes, the tau are going back into war of the worlds Edwardian world ("first contact event" i.e. war of the worlds coming up.) No, they are not going to leap forwards to WW2 (you write your own story, Delta Operator.) Although they may cause something strange to happen. Underlines indicate me dividing the story up, as other techniques don't seem to work very well. And I am using real locales.

And Enter the Tau main force… 

Terra, Montyr thought to himself, looking at the Manta's viewing screen, was far greener than he had expected.

It was early morning, about 0:300 hours. Despite the darkness, the viewing screen provided a clear view of the world below. Montyr could see a few lights, in all likelihood gas powered, but not many. It was late at night, and they were flying over rural country. A few motor cars could be seen below, driving along winding, hedgerow lined roads. Great ships could be seen out at sea, steaming to port. It was all incredibly primitive, but oddly beautiful. A world relatively unsullied by the fires of industry.

The comms officer turned. "Shas Vre, Mantas two and three request permission to land."

"Granted," Montyr replied. There were other craft flying over other major centres of natural resources on Terra: one was en route to a great continent to the west of this island, the other far to the south, and so on. Very little was known of terra even in the 41st millennium, but scans had picked up high levels of materials in these areas, so they were presumably human power centres. "Patch me through to them, if you please, shas'ui. I wish to speak to their commanders. I wish to know about the world we're about to encounter."

The comms officer nodded and tapped at his cogitator. Moments later, the reports came. "Manta two reporting in."

"This is Shas'vre Montyr. What sort of territory are you flying over?"

"It's daytime over here. We're over a city of some kind. Wait… yes, we're commencing landing. There's a big white building with a decent sized lawn. I just hope the owners don't mind us dropping in, but it really is quite important."

"Thank you. For the Greater Good, Shas Vre."

Number two Manta signed off. "Manta three reporting in."

It turned out that they were flying over a great desert, with many resources, but a surprisingly low amount of urban development. They were landing near to the largest settlement that they could find, on the southern coast of the continent. They signed off.

The comms unit crackled, and Montyr snatched it up. "Yes?"

"This is Kor'la Kais speaking." This was the drone commander, including the pilot drone. "Where shall we land, Shas Vre?"

Montyr thought for a moment. He had no desire to crash the manta on top of a large building, or to cause too much collateral damage with his landing full stop. But he wanted to be near the main urban centre. And Piranha reconisance had revealed several ideal locations for landing.

He pointed to the viewing port, gave some co ordinates, and the ship jerked down to the landing procedure. My'en could he heard vomiting noisily, and Shovah swallowed some tablets, but the Ethereal remained seated, calmly facing the wall. "For the greater good," he said into the intercom.

The two hundred soldiers on board responded thunderously. "For the Greater Good!" The sound of fists thumping chest armour could almost be heard above the engines.

And yet, as the scanners began to power down in the face of landing, Montyr noticed something.

The humans didn't have spacecraft here, surely?

I awoke slowly, and after an eternity of peace lying in bed, rang the bell signalling that the master would like his breakfast.

After not having it forthcoming, I rang again. Half an hour later, I climbed out of bed, dressed myself (and didn't do a terribly bad job, if I say so myself) and strolled leisurely out into town. The streets were oddly deserted. This was odd, considering that it was a Monday morning, and that it again had clear weather. Perturbed, I first wondered if it was plague, fears of yesterday's apparition coming to mind. But no- there would have been more sign than this. There would be corpses in street corners, and that sort of thing. Once again, my practical mind intervened.

It was after a few minutes of walking that I noticed the great crowd on Crazies Hill. I ran back to my house to retrieve my field glasses, and then returned to my point of observation from Mill Lane. 

It appeared that the entire town had taken a day off to look at the hill. As I looked closer, I began to notice something on it. I could see little from the distance, even through binoculars, but I could see a flash of mid morning sun bouncing off shining steel. "Something wicked this way comes", Shakespeare had once said, and the line came to my head just then. Could it be more Martians? Quite possibly.

I returned home, determined as the next man to see more of this strange, alien craft. I grabbed by boots and stick, and kept hold of my binoculars. I took my pack, an ancient army issue thing, and suffered the indignity of raiding my own scullery to obtain a decent supply of food- a loaf, ham, and a glass bottle of water if my memory serves me correctly- and, as an afterthought, rummaged around through my bedside table and fished out my old Webley service revolver. One couldn't be too careful, I reasoned as I stepped out of my front door.

My first description was taken from the inevitable brigade of boys with bicycles. Such people were bound to be among the first to notice strange happenings, often reached them fairly early on, and grew bored with such things quite quickly. I was soon beset by a great, bell ringing horde of them as I ambled up towards the Martian (if that was what it was.) 

"It's dashed odd," the first one (who'll remain Master Pimples for want of a better name) said cheerily. "Like a beige railway carriage, but on land!"

"Nah," said his more lower class companion, (Master Unshaven) said. "'S like an ironclad, ain't it? A flyin' Ironclad! My father's in the navy," he added proudly.

"I've heard," said (Master Highfautin voice) "that there are some extremely intelligent scientists trying to construct just such a device. A Land Ironclad, they call it."

"Oh, come!" said Master Pimples, "you've been just reading too much Wells! Land Ironclad, my foot!"

I decided to leave them to it, and continued on up the hill, broken voiced shouts ringing in my ears. That's another thing that's changed: teenagers had such good manners back then. But, it has to be said, their fashion tastes were somewhat dubious at best.

It took until about noon for me to clamber over to the crowd, and another three minutes to push myself into a decent position, muttering apologies all the way. It was not often that one saw men from Mars, after all.

The crowd was truly cosmopolitan, covering most of Henley's population as well as that of many surrounding villages. There were poorer types in working clothes, having taken detours from their daily commutes, and their overseers and bosses having done much the same. The Henley constabulary had set up a perimeter of about ten feet, and stood in their blue helmets with truncheons at the ready. There were sharp suited dandies and ladies, the mayor and his retinue in full regalia (feathered hats and suchlike), a few vendors of food, drink and newspapers. I availed myself of the morning's _Times_, and wished that I had brought a pen along with me for the crossword. This was before I got near enough to catch a glimpse of the device, of course.

It was a strange, wedge shaped thing, perhaps two hundred feet long, and a light brown in colour, which brought to mind the deserts of North Africa rather than English mud and stone. In what I suppose must be called the "wings", there were six devices which were quite recognisably guns, as well as smaller pieces on the body. There was also some form of door around the rear, where strange, propeller like devices lurked behind metal grilles. The term "Space Ironclad" came to mind immediately, for it was obviously more than capable of defending itself, and was also large enough to transport men.

I watched the thing for a few minutes, and then opened my Times and had a good glance at the pages. Nothing odd seemed to be mentioned. There were a few decent cartoons, and a mention of the Russian Bolsheviks, which I read with great interest. I was not unfamiliar with the communistic ideals of Marx and Engels.

At half past two in the afternoon, when the heat of the day was becoming almost unbearable, there was a sudden hush. I was not positioned round the back of the craft, but I could guess what was happening. "The lid's opening!" someone cried, and the police officers at that end turned about. There was a hiss, and then a strange whine. All eyes turned at once to the craft.

It could be seen that the doors were beginning to open.

There was a tense hush, and the sudden click of a camera. We craned out necks forward, staring as hard as we could at the thing. 

Then…

Thud. Thud. Thud.

There was a collective gasp from the audience.

We had all presumed that the being emerging from the Ether Ironclad would resemble human beings to a certain extent: oddly different, perhaps, but still humanoid in nature. We were partially correct in this, but we didn't perceive that they would employ their mechanical intelligence to alter their form in some way. 

I caught a glimpse of a huge, brown back, easily twice the size of a man, and we shrunk back. There was another wine, another thud as a great, metal foot stamped down. 

There was a silence, and then a voice started talking. But not English, as we had all hoped, or even some form of gobbledygook. It was, astonishingly, a language I recognised: in Latin!

The people at the other end of the craft had no idea of what the voice was saying. "You know Latin, don't you sir?" A voice asked. I realised with a start that it was that of my maidservant.

"I do," I replied. The mayor and company were making their way towards the lid end of the craft. Reluctantly, I followed. 

A voice with a strange, clipped accent was in a recognisably infuriated tone, berating the lack of intelligence amongst the crowd. "Do any of you here speak Gothic?" the unseen speaker shouted. 

An amused voice answered: "Por El Meen," (I think that I got the spellings right, working from phonetics), "is it possible that you may have gotten the languages wrong?"

"Wrong?" stormed El Meen. "I have studied Gothic for four Tau Ceer, and then spent eight more in the diplomatic service! I can't have got the linguistics wrong!" 

I winced as all eyes now turned to us as we faced the men from Mars.

On the right was the huge, mechanical _thing_, standing every bit as tall as I had expected, with glowing orbs for eyes and a rifle of some kind on each arm. On the left was a short, (they were proven to all be about five feet in height, but short by their standards), slightly rotund being in robes. It had blue skin, no nose to speak of, and no hair either. We all know what such things look like now, but it was understandably imposing at the first meeting.

The centre figure was obviously the leader, also with robes, but something about the stance and expression suggested command. It held a long staff in its right hand, and looked utterly serene in the face of the watching faces.

A mayoral aide nudged me in the ribs. I gulped, cleared my throat and tried to dredge up the right words from a mind which had gone curiously blank. "G-Good afternoon," I said in a wavering voice. "It is… It's my honour to welcome you to The United Kingdom of Great Britain her Empires, and to planet Earth." It came off rather well, I think.

Middle man paused pointedly. I went on hurriedly, "My name is Doctor Archibald Preston, sir, and this man-" I pointed- "is the leader of the town below. The town is called Henley on Thames." I stuttered to a halt there, and tried to pass it off by sheepishly turning to the Mayor and translating what I had just said.

The middle fellow gave what I took to be a smile. "Greetings," it said. "I am Aun Or'es, of the Ethereal Caste of the Tau Empire. It is my singular honour to greet you, Doctor Preston. May the futures of our worlds be united for the Greater Good!"

I muttered awkwardly at this, although both other Tau made some form of salute, the metal fellow with a great clang. It seemed that the "Ethereal" didn't mean us any harm. But why did the fellow bring so many troops along?

I made a few more stuttering formalities, and managed to quietly make good my escape at about three in the afternoon.

The next few days were surprisingly quiet. Every gentleman in within about seventy five miles decided in unison (or so it seemed) to invite the "Tow", "Tau" or in some cases "Tiw" or "Martians" (as the papers had called them) to dinner. The Tau often obliged. Indeed, they made sojourns into town surprisingly often, and they attracted intense curiosity (to say the least) wherever they went. The police were constantly on guard against the (surprisingly rare) incidents when a Tau soldier wondered into a pub and got himself drunk. Not that many of them ended up in the far from exotic surroundings of the Police station's prison; they spent most of their time standing on their hill around their ironclad and not doing very much. We (meaning birdwatchers and children with more daring than good sense) managed to glimpse what we took for common foot soldiers with rifles, as well as more of their strange armoured contraptions. Once or twice, we saw another flying machine emerge, more often than not with a turreted cannon on top. Our own armed forces took this very seriously. We heard news of guns being deployed across the river from the Tau landing, ready to fire at a moment's notice, and of infantry battalions being moved up from Sandhurst and Aldershot.

The newspapers reported landings across the world: In Paris, a Tau flyer had narrowly avoided the Eiffel tower. Another had landed in the middle of Siberia. My personal favourite incident (if such a word should apply here) is when Theodore Roosevelt, President of the United States of America, woke up to find one right outside the White House, surrounded by security guards and (curiously) a band playing "The Stars and Stripes."

Other, equally famous incidents (born largely out of improvisation) also came to the public eye: something which closely resembled a dish cover was left near to a copy of the Oxford English dictionary and learned our mother tongue within the hour. An Ethereal was almost arrested in Russia when it tried to give a lecture on the Greater Good.

Of course, it all changed with us too when we tried the same thing.


	3. The Speaking Machine

Right. Well, all of you seem to like this humble affair. I suppose that it isn't every day that one reads a 40k fic which isn't a star wars crossover, gundam crossover (I haven't read any gundam) or the adventures of my Imperial Guard regiment/ Space Marine company (often with the SMs sounding like people from modern day America.) Excuse me, but I shouldn't have typed that out loud. 

And before you think that the Mayor's opinions about civilians in war a little odd, remember that this was before the London Blitz and that sort of thing- i.e. campaigns to deliberately destroy enemy industry and civilians. Previous events involving civilian deaths had occurred, but often when attackers in sieges rampaged through towns.

Anyway, suffice to say that at this point, things start to happen.

It was a cause of no small amount of excitement when a message was found pinned to the notice board on the town hall saying that one Aun Or'es would be giving us a talk at six o'clock in the evening about the ideals of the Greater Good, as well as life on his home planet. This was especially odd (apart from having a five foot tall blue alien full stop) because the Ethereal had been keeping him (we had worked that much out by now) self to himself most of the time. Every inn in the town had offered the Tau rooms, and every offer had been politely declined. They presumably had quarters on their craft. Not very good ones, judging by how they used our inns, but they definitely had them.

I first heard it from the milkman, who had in turn heard it from his assistant, who when pressed revealed himself to have heard it from a bloke in the pub, who had heard it from a Tau soldier, who had heard it from god knows where. Small children could be seen crowding round the town hall expectantly, waiting for the event to begin. Journalists were clustering around the place, notebooks and cameras at the ready.

The atmosphere in town was one of nervous excitement, as those lucky enough to afford tickets speculated as to what would happen (or promised to describe it to those who couldn't.) A staff car arrived, containing one Major General Sir Richard Croft, who cheerily informed us that, in defiance of his uniform, cap and holstered revolver, he was here in a purely civilian capacity. "They're damned odd types, after all," he said when I asked him. "So, of course, I had to come." He was of middling height, tanned from service in the empire, and sported and impressive grey moustache which perfectly matched his thinning hair. A quarter of an hour later, another car drew up, this time containing the Foreign Secretary, one Henry Petty-Fitzmaurice, 5th Marquess of Lansdowne. He was a short man, with nothing worthy of note save a large moustache and sideburns, contrasting with his bald head. I was told that he had travelled once, quite extensively in fact, but you would never believe it if you had seen him.

Happily, I was to act as interpreter. I gave a pretty good show of being as reluctant as the next man, whereas I was in fact as fascinated as the next man about the whole affair. These Tau were truly strange creatures. 

The few hours passed quickly, and, as the sun began to sink below the horizon, we all filed into the town hall and sat down on whatever chairs we could find. I managed to get a straight backed wooden chair near to the stage, and watched as the others fought for space. The colonel and foreign secretary got the arm chairs, as did the mayor and most of the wealthier gentlemen. The women were all seated, unlike the majority of the guests, who had to make do with leaning on wood panelled walls. There was a small stage at one end of the room, with a stand for making speeches and now, I noticed, a string of bunting which combined Union Jacks and strange Tau symbols. There was a piano in the corner of the room, currently being used to keep the crowd happily entertained. The poor pianist had to work hard to drown out the conversation, and was therefore somewhat relieved when the door was opened for one last time. "The Ethereal, Mister Aun Or'es," the curate, one Stanley Matthewson, said, and there was a polite round of applause as the Tau, clad in white robes, made his way towards the stage. The vicar followed. He was a thin man, with the remains of red hair on his head and wire rimmed spectacles.

After a few minutes, the crowd was quiet, and Matthewson stepped forward. "Now, we are terribly lucky to have Mister Aun Or'es here," he said in an oddly high pitched voice. "He has travelled all the way from Mars, and will speak to us now about his experiences on his home planet, and the philosophy his people follow. Ah… yes. I must remind you people to remain quiet whilst he is speaking. We may never have this opportunity again, after all. And… well…" The vicar stepped back and gestured weakly. "I give you the tau himself!"

More polite applause, with the occasional cry from the poorer back row of "Martian! Martian! Martian!" A flag was lifted: a white one with a slogan-I forget the precise words, but it was daubed on in black paint and was vaguely supportive of Mars.

The applause stopped suddenly as Or'es reached into a small pouch on his robes, and produced something shaped vaguely like a saucer, but brown coloured and inverted. He fiddled with something on the back of it, and it began to hover eerily next to his head. There was a collective intake of breath, and then:

"Firstly, I must explain that you have no need of an interpreter," Or'es said. But the words were coming out of the saucer, in English, with slightly metallic, but perfectly clear accent! "although I must thank Doctor Preston for the effort." I blushed and laughed with the rest of them.

"Ladies and gentlemen. As your priest has already pointed out, my name is Aun Or'es. It was not my name given to me at birth; in our culture, we earn names with our achievements. But it will serve in our society. Which, it has to be said, is radically different to your own." There was a pause for effect, which was utterly silent. 

"Now, before we go any further, I must clear aside several misconceptions that you humans seem to hold about us. For one thing, we do not, in fact, come from Mars. We come from a rapidly expanding system of worlds-an interplanetary state- the centre of which is called, oddly enough, T'au."

Someone stuck his hand up-from the back row, I recall. A farm worker with a flat cap and a gaunt face.

"Yes?" the Ethereal asked.

"Well, your-ah-etherealship, if it wasn't your bunch who set those lights up-I mean to say- who did?"

"I do not recall any lights," The Ethereal said.

"How can't you 'ave?" The man stopped, embarrassed. "I mean to say that, well, it's been in the papers for about two weeks now, and you have portals in that Ironclad of yours, don't you?"

"He's right, you know," the foreign secretary said. He had an Irish accent. "If your own craft did not make those lights, then we must revert to our own theory. Namely, that there were either volcanoes on the planet mars, or that creatures on there are firing something at us out of some form of gun. We have seen the lights, after all. And the contents of that craft could be potentially dangerous. Your people may well need to take steps to tolerate it."

The Ethereal was now spitting words into some form of portable telephone he had produced from another pouch in his robes. Another minute passed, and it took that long for the hall to interrupt into chaos. People were shouting questions, arguing, wondering who was going to be hit first. I was personally terrified. What kind of technology did the Martians have to evade whatever observers that the tau had?

Two shouts rang out, and everyone froze. General Croft strode forwards, smoking pistol in hand. "Order!" He shouted. There were a few whimpers from the crowd. I looked at my hand, and found it pale with shock. The colonel turned to the Ethereal. "Mister Or'es? May I suggest that this meeting shall be adjourned? If action is to be taken, we need to decide what is to be done."

The Ethereal nodded, his saucer device evidently a two way affair. "Indeed we do, Colonel." He turned to the crowd. "I must apologise, but this meeting is now adjourned. May I now most humbly request that you are to all leave, save for General Croft, the mayor and foreign secretary. If a flying machine passes overhead, there is no need to panic. It will contain several of my advisers."

There was a virtual stampede for the door. I managed to get out quickly, and returned home. I bolted the door, pocketed my revolver and, for the first time since childhood, began to pray. Even as a strange humming sound could he heard outside, I prayed. Eventually, I climbed into bed and spent a restless night tossing and turning, listening to rumble of distant thunder.

The next morning, newspapers reported several cylinders to have landed around the South East of England, and others could also be seen. Reports came in from Paris and Moscow, Washington and Berlin, Istanbul and Vienna, Tokyo and Shanghai. Across the world, the cylinders (presumably Martian in origin) had arrived. 

A new age was dawning, but we had no idea what form it would take.

The narrative is now regrettably interrupted by what I can draw out of the minutes taken from the "council of war" between Major General Sir Richard Croft, Shas'Vre Montyr, Aun Or'es, Henry Petty-Fitzmaurice and the Mayor of Henley on Thames. There will be other sections similar to this- for instance, extracts from the memoirs, newspaper interviews and suchlike will be used to describe fights, getting the bigger picture, or other such additions which a humble university lecturer cannot hope to get hold of by him self.

(All enter the Town Hall. Montyr is not wearing his armour, instead is clad in robes like the Ethereal. Major General Croft has brought along me, a military clerk by the name of Corporal John Septimus. The Ethereal has his so called "Drone" machine performing the same service, and Fitzmaurice has a secretary by the name of Patrick Johnson doing the same for him.)

Mayor: Pray be seated, everybody. Can I get you anything? Tea? Something stronger?

Croft: No, thank you. Now, it would seem that this world of ours may soon be under assault from a form of warfare of which we know literally nothing. If we are to fight a war against such foes, we need knowledge. (Turns to Montyr.) Now, Major-that is the rough equivalent of your rank, is it not?

Montyr: (into translation drone) Lieutenant would be nearer, Mister Croft.

Croft: My apologies, Montyr. Now, as a "multi planetary empire-"

Or'es: (also into drone) We prefer not to use the term empire, Colonel. It sounds as if we are the dominant race within it, which is not the case- indeed (he stops talking.) We only provide the political doctrine.

(A small smile crosses Fitzmaurice's face. Afterwards, he informs me that he has doubts about the non imperialist nature of the Tau nation.)

Croft: As I was saying, your "multi planetary…nation" may well have previously received assault from foreign powers.

Or'es: Indeed it has. We have met them with almost total success.

(Another smile from Fitzmaurice.)

Croft: And what sort of tactics have you employed? More to the point, how can we adapt our own forces to adapt to these tactics.

Or'es: It would help if you were to give us more details about the composition, number and positioning of your forces.

(Croft gives a brief summary of the British armed forces. But he fails to mention his own Division: Sixth Division of Third Corps, consisting of 18,073 infantry all ranks, with 5,592 horses, 76 guns and 24 machine-guns. The other eleven Divisions number the same, but there are a total of six divisions on the British Isles. The rest are in the Empire.)

Or'es: You have no… land ships? No aircraft?

Croft: None beyond experimental stage.

Montyr: In which case this defense will be more difficult than with our own forces.

Croft: How so?

Montyr: Well- (turns to Or'es.)

Or'es says something in his own language. Montyr turns back to Croft.

Montyr: Our common tactics are to keep the enemy at bay in space, which is impossible with our low numbers of ships here. If they break through, they will start to land troops, often near to major centres of resistance. 

Croft: In that case, we had best fortify London.

Montyr: Since we do not know the offensive capabilities of these aliens, it would perhaps be best to engage them outside of your capital city.

Croft: Right. Would that mean scattering our forces across the country to meet any threat?

Montyr: Indeed so.

Croft: And how are we to bring our full strength to bear once they attack? Bringing up men by train will take time.

Montyr: It could be possible to use our Tau troops as a mobile reserve. We have extremely maneuverable… flyers, which could feasibly respond to any sudden threat.

Croft: I see. How far can they travel per day?

Montyr: With sufficient fuel, we could travel up the British Isles in five hours. Easily.

There is a brief silence.

Croft: It would seem that your forces are ideally suited as a reserve, then.

Or'es: Just so, General, just so.

Mayor: What should be done with us civilians?

Or'es: We should probably evacuate them.

Mayor (shocked tone): But we are civillians, man! In war, you do not go out of your way to kill non combatants, damn it!

Or'es: It occurs in our wars-involving…other powers, of course, killing our own, but it still happens. On a large scale.

Croft: Bloody hell. You come from a hard world, Ethereal.

(It is worth noting that Croft was a veteran of the Second Boer wars, in which concentration camps had been employed. It is also worth noting that he deplored the practice.)

Or'es (oddly sadly): Indeed we do, General. Indeed we do.

Fitzmaurice: I shall see to the arrangements, sirs. Or, more accurately, someone else in His Majesty's Government will. In the meantime, best of luck to our brave soldiers! And pray that the Martians don't prove to be aggressive.

Both Tau: For the Greater Good!

Mayor: Ah…yes, I suppose so. For the greater good and all that.

((They discuss logistics for another hour, all of which can easily be found in the London archives.))

The article below is a translated extract from _L'Humanité_ a French Newspaper, where an Ethereal did manage to deliver his speech without interruption.

Crowds gathered today at the very foot of the Eiffel Tower as a so called "Ethereal", a leading member of the alien Tau, by the name of Aun O'Kais, made a speech about his political ideology. Aided by a translating machine, he explained much which may seem strange to human ears. Here to help us to explain it to us is Doctor Louis de Cateau.

"Broadly speaking, the Tau political ideology is based around something that they call "The Greater Good." The nominal leaders of the nation are the Ethereals, who, according to ancient legend, managed to unite the warring factions of the Tau nation. 

"The Greater Good fundamentally is an ideology which puts the good of the state ahead of the good of the common man. This may seem very familiar to students of history, with particular reference to past kingdoms and empires, but it is in fact quite different. 

"The Tau are split into five "castes", which are based around our ancient Aristotelian elements: the Earth Caste are workers, the Water Caste are bureaucrats, the Air Caste are pilots, the Fire Caste are soldiers, and the Ethereal Caste are leaders. A tau is born into his or her caste, and they may not move from it for any reason. Whilst this may seem somewhat oppressive to our own tastes, especially when compared with communism and socialism, we are informed that it is by far the least oppressive of political ideas in the area. Indeed, there is apparently a so called "Imperium" of a totally different race, which is led by a magical corpse and is based around slowly degenerating technology. It is no wonder, then, that many smaller alien races flock to the Tau for mutual protection and technology which is admittedly far higher than our own. Examples of these would include the "Kroot" and "Vespid", who have accompanied the Tau expedition.

"Whilst it is extremely unlikely that any set of ideas which put state ahead of individual and encourage such iron obedience would ever be implemented in human society, it is worth noting that the Tau have managed to avoid the troubles of civil wars and suchlike since they adopted these ideals. If a human society was to be dragged to the dire straits that the Tau had apparently suffered, it may be the case that such ideals may be a whole lot more likely."


	4. The Fighting Machine

Ah, at last, the sound of warfare. This fic has taught me a fair few things- namely, that no matter how beautiful your emotional drama is, everyone like the crossover far more. Also, amazingly, this will feature one of my first proper battle scenes in So, fingers crossed, this will keep going. And I must apologise for the fiction references which will commence from about now, and I think have been present earlier on. And I know that Journey's End was set in the trenches of World War 1, but I think that this is still a fairly good plan. We all take liberties with the fluff on occasion, and I feel that it is my turn. I've been fairly loyal up until this point. And besides, I'm playing Osborne in my exam piece. (I would advise listening to the beginning of Antrozouse from Batman Begins, or Requiem of Dreams in the fight scenes. They add tension, and are both accessible on Youtube.) And I do hope that no one will start to say that I overpowered/underpowered one side or the other. It hasn't happened yet…

I must also apologise for the various typos, which are due to hasty amendments in the plot/setting. So, once and for all: This is set in 1904. Croft is a Major General. I know that Shas'Vre is a couple of ranks too low to command an army, but stay with me here. I apologise. If there are any others, please tell me.

(Taken from the memoirs of Lieutenant-Colonel Charles Osborne, formerly of the King's Royal Rifle Corps entitled "A Journey's End." I must apologise for the quality of writing, but as I wasn't a front line soldier, it has to be said that his point of view is as useful as any.)

I was awakened at the dead of night by our company's new batman, one Corporal Mason. "General Haig wants to see you, sir," he said. "In full kit, sir. Battledress, sir."

I crawled out of bed, and slowly began to dress. I was annoyed about being awakened at around midnight (according to my hunter's watch) but when Generals command, mere Lieutenants obey. "D'you have any idea what it's about?" I asked him. Mason nodded eagerly.

"It's about something alien, sir," he said, offering me my cap. I took it, donned it peak first (as was my custom at that time), gripped my walking stick in a firm sort of manner, and marched out to meet the general.

As I walked, I could see other officers doing the same, all with the same tired faces and slightly dishevelled uniforms. Those with moustaches- a vast majority- wore them in a similar state to their clothing, and those without were unshaven. It seemed that pretty much every officer there- a sizeable proportion of the British Army- had been summoned. A feeling of dread materialised in the pit of my stomach. This, I thought, had to be bad.

The parade ground was soon filled with men, some arriving in carriages or busses if they had been off duty. But many weren't. Ever since the so called "Tau" had arrived, the majority of us had been put on the alert, ready to intervene. A few regiments had even been moved up to cover the strange "Manta" aircraft where they had been digging in. I instinctively moved towards my own company- C company, second battallion. Our officers were all present. Captain Stanhope, tall, blonde, three years out of public school and our company leader. Lieutenant Trotter, rotund, but brave- he had once served in the ranks, and had to be damned good to get out of them. Lieutenant Hibbert, small, moustached, ill favoured. And Lieutenant Raleigh, just out of public school- the school Stanhope had been in, apparently- and as eager as anything to get into action. 

"Good evening, Uncle," Stanhope said. As I have probably mentioned earlier, they called me Uncle because I was a relatively old man to them. "D'you know anything about this affair?"

"I'm afraid not," I replied, with a shrug of my shoulders. "But Mason told me something about the creatures from above." That was our nickname for such things at the time. I understand that it has now changed.

"A Tau offensive?" Stanhope asked. 

I shrugged again. "Could be." And God help us if it was. "Presumably the General knows."

"Aren't those Tau rather advanced?" Raleigh asked eagerly. "I mean, I read in the papers about their aircraft and that sort of thing."

"Yes Raleigh," I said, "they are."

"It'll be one terrific scrap if it's them!" he said, grinning. I smiled gently. "A bit difficult, I suppose, but still…"

I could see Hibbert out of the corner of my eye. He had been strangely quiet throughout. He always was strangely quiet, unless he was drunk, in which case he was as boisterous as anyone. "Have you learned anything of this, Hibbert?" I asked.

"Nothing, Uncle. Nothing at all." And then he looked away.

We stood out in the cold for a quarter of an hour, watching and waiting. We all lit up- pipes for Raleigh and I, cigarettes for everyone else. I was just about dozing off standing when a burly sergeant major called the assorted officers to attention. We all snapped to it, and craned our necks in a most ungentlemanly fashion to try and see what was happening.

Lieutenant General Sir Douglas Haig, CB, was a somewhat unassuming looking man. He was of average height, of average build for a middle aged, middle class man-that is to say, slightly plump, but with a tan from his recent foreign service. He spoke in a Scottish accent, albeit not very well in public, and had a bushy moustache which, I noticed, was in immaculate condition. 

"AT EASE!" The sergeant major roared, and we gratefully relaxed. General Haig stepped forwards, breathed in, and began his speech.

"Gentlemen. Word has reached us that, not half an hour ago, a cylinder from the planet Mars has been seen striking the ground in an area just to the South of Marlow. A second and third have also arrived near to High Wycombe and Henley. Others are also believed to have landed, but in unknown locations. They are presumed to be hostile targets.

"We are to destroy the contents of these cylinders. At times, alien troops under the command of Shas'Vre Montyr may assist you. They are not to be fired upon. Are there any questions?"

Our Colonel, Colonel Sheriff, raised his hand. "How do we know that these Martians are hostile?" he asked.

"The blackened body of a gamekeeper was found not one hundred yards away from one of the cylinders," Haig said. "I believe that that answers your question, Colonel."

After that, things went rather quickly. We were told which station to go to, and which train to catch. We were assigned to the Henley cylinder, and we took the four o'clock train to Marlow, from where we would march to Henley. We all tried to catch as much sleep as we could, which needless to say was very little. I tried to distract myself from thoughts of what could emerge from a Martian cylinder by my old method: reading Lewis Carroll's Alice in Wonderland. This amazed everyone else in the compartment, but I found the poetry, so utterly surreal, to be just the thing to keep one's mind off war and death. You have to have a method for doing that, or you generally go mad in a few months of fighting. Even Stanhope had one, although his own was, shall I say, far more grown up than mine. I eventually nodded off, the sound of the train lulling me to sleep.

(And now back to my own writing.)

The next day was one of incredible military preparation. Khaki clad soldiers and policemen in blue hammered on doors and ordered people to hide in cellars when the firing started. The guns which had previously been aimed at Crazie's Hill were now being moved towards it. The bridge and high street were full of whinnying horses, shouting soldiers and heavy, limbered field guns and ammunition. Infantrymen, all tired looking, crossed the river on every boat that could be found because the bridge was too full. People trying to flee were turned back, and I could see why. The roads, railways and rivers were already full of troops. The Tau flyer had taken to the air, and was now circling menacingly, with clods of soil and old stones pouring off its flat bottom.

At midday, a gun team on the bridge crashed after almost running over a small girl, resulting in a further hold up. It was just as the gun was being cleared out of the way that we heard it.

At first, I thought that it was a summer thunderstorm. But then a sergeant turned and bawled at his gun team, demanding that they clear "the f-ing mess off the road!" Above the racket, I could hear soldiers working the bolts of their rifles. Orders were shouted, and soldiers rushed towards Crazie's Hill in a skirmish order. I could see strange aircraft pouring out of the Manta, flying east like a flock of large, metal birds.

"They're firing," I muttered to myself. "My god, they're firing!" I ran down into the cellar, and there I lay along with the servants, listening to the grumble of gunnery in the distance. It was coming from Marlow, I thought to myself. That was it. To the East. What at? What did the Martians look like? How many were there?

(To Osborne again.)

We advanced in a wide skirmish order up towards Crazie's Hill, and I was pleased to note that, despite the long train journey and march, none of our men looked as if they were panicking. Indeed, C Company were in high spirits, bayonets and cap badges gleaming in the sun. Our soldiers were armed with the Lee Enfield .303 Rifle, a perfectly serviceable weapon which our troops used to great effect. A good man could put fifteen rounds through a six hundred yard target in a single minute, which was excellent by the standards of the time. We mere officers were officially meant to use our Webley Mk IVs, but we always managed to get hold of rifles when danger was afoot. 

We had three guns on the hill before us, all of which now had the crews standing alert, watching the horizon through binoculars. The strange aircraft hummed overhead, still spitting smaller vehicles out towards the gunfire at Marlow. The sound of it made hairs stand up on the back of my neck.

Another gun was moved into position, and then another. Raleigh and I sat, binoculars in hands, and waited for the fighting. We talked, but the precise conversation escapes me, although I do remember a very funny joke he made. It's a shame that I've forgotten it all now. He's dead now, you see.

The day wore on. Another three guns were brought up to the hill. Stanhope cheerily suggested a game of cricket, which was heartily agreed to. We used rifle butts for bats, and someone had a ball- as a lucky charm, I gather. C company beat B company three times in a row, mostly due to Stanhope and Raleigh, both of whom had been great cricketers at school. I was more a rugby sort of person myself, having played for The Harlequins- the Oxford team to the uninitiated, and for England on one great occasion. The gunners cheered us on, and Trotter gave a mocking commentary. It was a fine afternoon.

"And now, as you can see, Stanhope has just hit the ball again. And before you ask, yes I am only here for the two and six they give me. Yes, it has probably landed on General Haig's head. You can cheer if you want to. But no, wait-"

"HOWZAT!"

"Will you shut up, Wilkins? I'm trying to commentate here. Lor', the people they turn out of Sandhurst now." Trotter took a breath. "HOWZAT!" he cried.

We played until, quite suddenly and after about an hour, the firing at Marlow abruptly halted. We all froze when we noted its absence.

"Don't worry," I said encouragingly. "They could have beaten them. They're probably singing God Save the King even now!"

With a sudden air of solemnity, the rifles were returned to their proper purposes, and we all crouched. The air seemed suddenly to be colder. Slowly, unconsciously, I drew my revolver and began to load the weapon. Raleigh looked at me, all eagerness mysteriously gone. I gave a reassuring smile, and offered my hand. We shook.

"Good luck, Mister Raleigh," said I.

"Good luck, Uncle," said he. 

There was a brief pause. Then…

"Martian!" 

We all jumped. There didn't appear to be anything. Then I saw it.

A great metal body loomed over the crest of the next hill. In between us and it was nothing, save a steep sided valley which had once doubtless contained a river. Now, instead, it contained one small house, whose owners I could see running for dear life from the metal thing.

I grabbed my binoculars and watched as a metal arm swung up out of the body, aimed (this is with hindsight, of course) down and fired. I saw a strange rippling in the air, and the house burst into flames. Then it was all lost as our guns opened fire. There was a great deafening roar, a terrifying scream, and then the explosions on the crest of the hill. I lowered the binoculars and stood.

"C Company! Fix Bayonets!" Stanhope ordered. I watched nervously as the men took the long blades out of their scabbards and screwed them into the sockets. Hibbert stood rigid, revolver hanging limp in his hand. Even as I looked, it dropped out of nerveless fingers.

Colonel Sheriff didn't notice. He muttered to our Colour Sergeant, who then boomed, his mouth huge, " Batallion will advance in skirmish order!"

We did. I walked next to Raleigh. The boy gripped his revolver tightly. I did the same. It gives you something to hold on to, which I find to be oddly comforting.

The advance was quiet, punctuated only by a few gasps as the Martian machine rose above the hill crest utterly intact from our guns. It had three long, tentacle like legs, and stood at perhaps one hundred feet in height. It gave a deafening, throbbing cry of "Ulla! Ulla!" and began to walk towards our battalion.

We continued to march forwards. The guns fired another volley over our heads, and the thing was hid for a moment behind the great wall of fire, smoke and shrapnel. We waited with baited breath, but it marched out of the smoke, roaring another cry.

At the five hundred yard mark, Colonel Sheriff gave the order to fire. We all knelt or lay down in the short grass, and our men aimed down their rifles. Our two maxims were made ready.

With a great, rattling, whipping roar of bullets, we obeyed.

Rifles crackled constantly. The maxims spat bullets at the tripod. I just stood and watched as, at long last, we were in action. Raleigh was standing and almost jumping up and down with excitement. "It'll fall!" he cried. "Nothing can stand that, Uncle! Nothing!" Our guns fired again, and the tripod was once again obscured behind the explosions.

The tripod emerged, totally intact, bullets sparking off its hull, and it began to return fire. I saw the same strange rippling in the air, and immediately men started to die. A company was being slowly taken apart, a the rippling sword of heat beginning to cut through them from left to right- strafing, I suppose, like on of our Maxims. One moment we were firing confidently, the next we could only watch as an entire company of men- two hundred soldiers- were burned to death in mere moments. We fired on for a few moments, watched as our rifle, Maxim and revolver rounds simply ricocheted off, and then stopped. The heat ray was now ripping into B company.

I saw the Colonel muttering to the Colour Sergeant, who with visible reluctance turned towards us. "Batallion! Retire in order!"

Stanhope blew on his whistle, and we began to step backwards, still firing at the tripod, watching as shot after shot simply glanced off. I could see Hibbert turning, preparing to run. Stanhope turned and grabbed his collar.

"I have a job for you, Hibbert," he said in a calm, even voice. "It's quite a simple job, really."

Hibbert stared back mutely, terror in his eyes.

"Go and run to that Tau aircraft," Stanhope said in the same, easy tone, even as more of B Company were burned by the heat ray, "and ask them for more men. More guns. Whatever it is that they have. Run underneath it and shout, Hibbert. Does that sound simple?" Stanhope turned back to the Tripod and fired three more shots at it.

He nodded, turned and fled.

Our guns fired another volley. A shell exploded underneath the Tripod, making it reel back. We cheered that. We could actually hurt it. 

Then the heat ray hit our guns, igniting the ammunition and blowing them to pieces. Much of D Company were immolated in the blast.

Now the retreat was total, I don't mind admitting it. We just turned and ran like the Dickens from the Tripod, praying that we wouldn't be hit by it. I heard more screams from behind me. I could see Trotter, running along as quickly as he could, being hit by the ray. He screamed and fell forwards. No one tried to help him. No one would. There was nothing to be done for him; good Trotter, always grumbling about something, always there, good, solid, dependable Trotter. Now lying face down in the dirt, utterly unrecognisable from the burns.

A howitzer fired from behind the hill, bursting yards away from the tripod, but it could have been miles for all the good it did. Infantry-more infantry- were running up Crazies Hill, only to find us running back down it. Hardly anyone could get a clear shot at the thing with a rifle, and they wouldn't have hurt it if they had one. And all the while, the heat way licked at us, killing man after man. Several more guns, deployed at Henley, were aimed at the Tripod, and they would have easily killed it, but we were all milling about in the way. The gunners refused to fire.

I could see Hibbert waving and gesturing frantically towards us, but the tau aircraft just didn't notice him. Indeed, it just spiralled higher and higher, taking our last hopes with it.

"Aun'Or'es? Permission to engage!" Montyr was now shouting into the communicator. "Permission to engage!"

"Denied, Shas'Vre." The Ethereal's voice sounded utterly serene.

"But the human soldiers are dying, damn it!" he shouted, unable to restrain himself. "You said that we were to be allies to them! And they need more damned firepower!"

"They have enough guns to handle this situation themselves. You saw the tank recoil from the cannon shell. They do not need our help."

Montyr, for the first time in his life, considered disobedience. But this was an Ethereal. You didn't disobey an Ethereal. You instead tried another line of argument. "Would this look a little… suspicious?" he asked again.

"How so?"

"Well, we are _flying right over them, _Aun'Or'es! And yet we do not attack!" Shas'Vre's voice took on a more reasonable tone. "They'll begin to suspect something by now, I think."

There was a pause. 

"Very well, Shas'Vre. You may assist the Gue'la." There was a weary note in the Ethereal's voice, although it was hard to pick out over the communicator.

"Thank you, Aun Or'es." The communicator's channel was hastily changed. "This is Mon'tyr! Crisis Team Shi! Piranha squadron five! You may commence your attack run immediately!"

The acknowledgements came quickly. The veteran commander turned to the pict screen and watched with pride as the tau aircraft hummed out of the Manta. That tripod, he thought to himself, would fall. Victory would be theirs again, for the Greater Good.

He could see the remaining Human gun positions below, firing across the river at Henley. Another of their shells struck the tripod, this time in the leg, but it didn't go off. The machine almost tripped from the force, the heat ray swinging wildly, and then it noticed the tau coming at it from above.

The heat ray swung up just as the Piranhas swung in for their first strafing run. 

With a discipline that was almost beautiful for Montyr, they attacked in a perfect V formation. The front craft gave the tripod its fusion blaster, firing a single bolt, whilst the other two opened fire with their mounted gun drones and burst cannon, spitting blue plasma bolts at the tripod. 

The thing would have fallen if the fusion weapon had been fired just a few inches closer. The searing heat would have crippled the thing, killing the driver and blasting the drive systems apart. As it was, the thing's hull was blackened, but it was still very much alive. It gave another "Ulla", and triggered the heat ray. The front Piranha was hit, and it exploded in midair, a flash of blue light and shrapnel. Montyr could hear the human troops groan.

The tripod roared in triumph, and swung the heat ray down to the humans on the ground once more.

And then the Crisis teams, which had been gracefully working their way underneath the tripod, opened fire.

The first suit, under the command of Shas'vre'Ka, was equipped with a brace of missile pods. Both were triggered, but they proved as effective as the human guns. The machine reeled again, and tried to bring the heat ray far enough down to target the battlesuits.

The second suit, driven by Shas'Vre'Ko, fired her fusion blaster at the tripod, neatly severing a leg, but was whipped aside as the same leg swung lethally into the battlesuit's face. The pilot suffered a broken neck, and later died from her injuries.

The third suit, driven by the great Shas'ui'Savon, hero of the Damocles Crusade, saved its shot till last. As the Martian began to collapse from the injuries it had sustained, Savon flew the suit up directly face to face with the tripod, levelled both plasma rifles and gun drones, and opened fire. The Martian's head, after a second of sustained fire, exploded, taking Savon with it.

Soldiers from both races cheered themselves hoarse.

The Martians had inflicted massive damage on human forces. They had been driven out of Marlow, and the Marlow machine, having fought off an attack from a Pathfinder led team of Fire warriors and Stealthsuits, was still roaming around the countryside, slowly making its way to London, and leaving devastation in its wake. Two other tripods, armed with strange "black smoke" launchers, had fought their way through the entirety of the Fifth Division of the British Army, before being driven back by an attack from Tau Hammerheads. Another Tripod was destroyed near Maidenhead by a surprise attack. A whole battery of six heavy siege guns, huge sixty pound affairs, had remained masked behind a terrace until the very last moment. As the Martian made its way down the street, they had fired, blasting it to fragments in one huge volley. The other tripods were still at large in an unknown area of the South East, although a rough map was being formed based around the location where the blackened bodies of cavalry scouts and ruined towns were found.

On the British Isles, Human troops had lost twenty thousand men to the Tripods, mostly to the black smoke. Tau forces had also taken heavy losses; forty infantrymen, two battlesuits and six piranha scout craft. Across the world, the situation was little better.

In America, where Tau forces were incredibly thinly spread, the tiny professional army was virtually wiped out, leaving fearful National guardsmen and a handful of Tau left to defend a steadily decreasing amount of landmass. Texas had been overran, and Martians were slowly marching up through the Deep South.

In continental Europe, massive conscript armies were being mobilized, and the relatively large concentration of Tau per square mile let them fare far better. The German army in particular, with its modern and massive numbers managed to swat aside the Martian Tripods, leaving Tau forces free to aid the other European powers. Casualties were still extremely heavy, with thirty thousand dead across Europe.

But, still, it was regarded as a human victory. The Martians had learned the power of human and Tau forces, specifically human artillery and Tau battlesuits, as well as the usefulness of the black smoke. 

And in the far future, several beings realised that something terrible had happened. All began to make their preparations.


	5. The Space Machine

I believe that this is a first. I have done a crossover. There have been shots fired. Many shots fired, in fact. Things have exploded into many pieces. And yet, absolutely no one has complained about their canon being overpowered! Compare this to, say Empires Collide or Ferrum Dominatus, or indeed just about any Star Wars/4OK crossover, and you will find that it is somewhat different. But, it seems, as no one likes H.G Wells (or, indeed, the British Empire) as much as Star Wars, this doesn't seem to occur.

Anyway, that's enough from me. Although I somewhat disagree with Long Live Warhammer40K's comment of "Good war. Isnt that happy". I don't really understand him. Ah, well. And now for even more characters, who are oddly familiar to all of us…

Space, Fio El Shovah thought to herself, was far duller than she had thought. She looked out of the observation screen once again, and gazed around their surroundings.

Space greeted here once again. Great, cold, black, speckled with the little dots that were stars and planets. Born in the dorms of Bork'an, El Shovah had never expected to travel the stars. Her future, as she had seen it, was to be a dry academic, only hearing of space in the weekly news picts. Now that she had been proved wrong, she wanted nothing more than to return to solid, preferably Bork'an, ground. There was nothing as such wrong with space, in that there weren't any dangers or illnesses involved that the defence fleet couldn't handle. It was just so… monotonous. Day after day of eating the same, happily unidentifiable food which always came in tablets or a plastic plate with a transparent cover. Having no proper air to breathe, or anywhere to run around in.

She let her eyes wonder. There was the Kor'vattra detachment assigned to defending the time machine. Two Gal'eath class Starships, six Il'Fannor Ke'lshan class cruisers, and many smaller craft. She stared at them for a few moments, pondering which gun was which. It would provide something to do, she thought to herself. Perhaps later.

Transports could also be seen, just behind the naval ships. Operation Goldwing apparently needed more troops. They had, at last count, five thousand armed men to cover an entire planet which, even to El Shovah's inexperienced eyes, didn't seem anything like enough. So, reluctantly, Aun'Va had sanctioned another opening of the portal.

Then, inevitably, she saw the great Time Machine which was the centrepiece of their project here.

To say that it was a Tau invention was something of an exaggeration. More accurately, it had been found by a colonial fleet, and had been sufficiently odd to bring about a full investigation. From the outside, it didn't appear to be that special- made of a darkish plastic material, crescent shaped- until one realised that it was three thousand miles high. Larger than a small planet, it towered above even the huge observatory, which was itself in a fairly substantial space station of perhaps eight kilometres wide. It was true that the Tau had definitely added things on to it, attaching various devices meant to amplify or control the device's capability. But most of the experimentation had been done by trial and error. It was fair to say that the Tau, the virtual masters of the technological world, knew nothing about how it actually worked at all.

And to a Tau, uncertainty and disorder were the two greatest foes. It was for the eradication of these, as much as anything else, that Fire Caste soldiers died on battle fronts, that new guns were manufactured, that fleets were built. And, of course, for the Greater Good. El Shovah quickly diverted her eyes from the machine, and watched as it was powered up for its next use. The lights in the room flickered, stuttered for a moment, and then died as enough electricity to power T'au for an hour was diverted from the space station's reactors to the machine.

She had seen the procedure before, even operated the controls, but it still raised the wing stubs on her back. For a brief second, there was nothing. Then, lightning began to flicker up and down the structure, in every shade of colour she could imagine, and many that she couldn't. Even as she watched, lights on some of the spacecraft began to flicker themselves. If the communications were functioning, she knew that she would hear demands for support. But the lighting simply blanked them out.

The most terrifying thing of all, she found, was the silence. Even the greatest storms on planets were always backed up with appropriate sounds of thunder. But the lack of these just made it seem worse. Far, far worse.

((Taken from To The Warp And Beyond! By Ciaphas Cain, edited by Inquisitor Amberly Vail.))

(((Author's note: Well, it seemed too good an opportunity to resist. And guess who else is also turning up…))

This is one of Cain's times as acting as an "Inquisitorial Dogsbody" as he so aptly puts it. This is, of course, alongside the Valhallan 597th Regiment, who performed admirably in the proceedings which would follow, (although not without some defeats; notably, letting Lieutenant Jenit Sulla near a pen so as she could continue with her assaults upon the Gothic Language.) The so called "Terran Campaign" was one of the most unusual events that the Inquisition has ever became involved in, and also one of the most vital. More detailed account's than Cain's can be picked up at most good Inquisitorial libraries. I have taken the liberty of adding other sources (most notably those of Messrs Preston and Osborne) to add detail about the conflict.

And, before leaving here, it is worth clearing up a few matters. Notably, the placement of this account in this particular series of archives. There have been many occasions in which people from other galaxies have crossed over into our own, one of which I have been personally involved in. Happily, I can reveal myself to be fully recovered from the demonic incursion. Anyway, the point is that the vast majority of these incidents, whilst providing hour upon hour of happy debate for the Inquisition (most notably over the relative powers of our own and foreign military forces) have been exaggerated somewhat. The Emperor is still happily remaining on the Golden Throne, in a similar manner to our Primachs. It would take a lot more than the methods employed in these accounts to wake any of them or, indeed, the authorisation to try.

But that's enough from be. I'll now leave you with Cain and his wholly delightful account of the whole affair.

It is not every day that one wakes up on a starship in the middle of the warp, only to be informed by the intercom that you're about to change directions towards a new theatre of war. It is even less common that this just after a romantic liason with a female member of a front line guard regiment.

But, of course, I was inured to much of what the galaxy could throw at me, my skills at running and hiding having thus far kept me intact. "Shut the frak up," I muttered.

"All executive officers to report to stateroom of the _Goliath _immediately," the intercom said heartlessly, grating on hangover enhanced nerves.

I felt around the bed, only to find that the lady I had picked up for the evening had mysteriously disappeared. Damn. I hastily dressed, and opened my room's door. My quarters, as per usual, looked neat and orderly, save for where the chief reason for this state of affairs had made his customary billet. A familiar odour greeted my nostrils, jerking me into wakefulness.

"Good morning, Jurgen," I said in false cheerfulness, for it was indeed about 0500 hours according to my watch.

Jurgen snapped to instant wakefulness. "Is there anything you need, sir?" he asked in parade clipped tones.

"Oh, nothing thanks," says I. "I'll be off for a bit. An official meeting, you understand."

"Right you are, sir," says he, trying to pull his uniform into shape. As per usual, this failed to achieve noticeable results, so he just saluted and let me leave. Once out of my rooms, I breathed deeply on the fresh air of the starship. It tasted stale, but after Jurgen's scent it was like being in a flower garden. Thus rejuvenated, I strode towards the stateroom. I stepped aside to let a commissar and his colonel past, and wondered where my own officer was.

Then I froze.

The commissar had an abnormally ornate looking sabre at his side, and his face looked, aptly enough, Gaunt. His colonel, a big shaggy bear of a man, was wearing a strange, green cloak.

"Sacred Emperor," thinks I, "it couldn't be!" But it appeared that the most serious, sober, violent regiment of the Imperial Guard was accompanying us, with the most serious, sober, hard-line commissar leading them. The Tanith First. "Frak," thinks I. "My normal habits of drinking, gambling and whoring would have to be well concealed for this one." I watched as the two men marched into the briefing room.

"It's an honour, isn't it sir?" I turned to see the familiar, red haired form of Colonel Kasteen in the corridor, in her full dress uniform. She was quite typical of the Valhallan female, I suppose: tall, pale skinned, red haired, blue eyed, and extremely lethal in a combat situation.

"It's always an honour to serve the Emperor, Colonel," says I.

"It's just… you and Gaunt. Two great heroes of the Imperium on one ship." She smiled to herself.

That was quite the opposite of my own opinion, but I just nodded and gave a martial smile. "Shall we go in now, then," I asked. She nodded, and we found seats quickly enough. As I had not read the briefing slates, as per usual, I gave the room a quick glance to see who was there.

I could see Gaunt and his Colonel sitting alone, save for a commissar with a cigar and a grey coated officer with an old fashioned bicorn hat ((1)). A long way to their right was a group of Steel Legionnaires in their khaki coats. They looked oddly vulnerable without their huge gas masks, I thought to myself, before looking further. There was the usual mass of Cadian style cap and flak wearers ((2)), signifying a planetary governor singly lacking in imagination, a pair of beret clad Catchans- no Commissar, I thought to myself, inwardly imaging how many "fraggings" they carried out until the commissariat had eventually given up ((3)). But the most lethal and sinister was yet to come.

I heard Kasteen gasp, and I looked over to the door. There was a deep, booming thump. And another.

A huge space marine was marching in, along with nine others, all clad in black power armour which was covered with parchment scrolls and rosettes. As one, we stood and clapped, myself with a deep feeling of dread. If the Space Marines were needed, this would have to be bad. And behind them-

"Hey, isn't that the Inquisitor we picked up on Gravalax?" Kasteen said, slyly, looking at the power armour clad woman at the back of the column (presumably worn so as she didn't look out of place.) ((4))

"Yes, I suppose it is," says I. Well, at least Amberly Vail and I may get some time together. That always proved to be entertaining. This campaign suddenly seemed a little brighter. This, of course, just goes to show.

Eventually the applause died down, and Lord General Zyvan stepped up onto the dais, Amberley standing to his left, the space marine leader to his right. "Ladies and Gentlemen," he said, "I am quite sure that you are wondering exactly why you have been called here at this late hour."

We all nodded wryly. "The time of our calling is of no meaning," the leader of the Space Marines said. "When the Emperor calls, we must obey."

"Quite so," Zyvan said, nodding briskly. "Well, I am quite sure that Inquisitor Vail here can explain it far better than I, but suffice to say that, quite literally, the future of the Imperium itself depends on our success."

Amberley nodded. She looked totally serious. Damn, thinks I. I'll have to get involved in some fighting again, probably.

She stepped forward, golden armour whining slightly. "Now," she said, "the objective of our mission involves many extremely complex paradoxes and events which are, to be frank, extremely complicated and are not worth mentioning. To put it simply, a group of Tau have discovered a method of travelling back in time. Imperial intelligence-"and I could guess what sort of methods were employed- "has revealed that they intend to use it to travel to Terra many years ago, and prevent the Imperium from coming into existence. This task force has been assembled to stop them. Are there any questions?"

Gaunt's hand shot up. "Wait," said he in a perplexed tone, "if they succeed, doesn't that mean that we wouldn't be here right now?"

"It's very complicated," Amberley said.

Gaunt, undaunted, raised his hand again. My respect for him grew. Even a Space Marine wouldn't question an inquisitor's orders for this long.

"Is there any special reason that my men have been picked?" he asked. "Because, you see, we apparently have an appointment with Herodor-"

"We did the intelligent thing and sent a detachment of Iron Hands Space Marines to hold it instead," Vail said sweetly. "It is very important. To be succinct, your men have just left Aexe Cardinale. Aside from being excellent soldiers full stop, you have also had experience with the methods of warfare that we employed when the Tau were travelling back to."

I could feel Gaunt's mood plummet from across the stateroom. We had all heard of Aexe methods, and we all dreaded being commanded by someone who approved of them. We wouldn't have a hope if the Tau attacked men like that.

"The other regiments have also been chosen for similar reasons," Vail went on. "The 67th Catchans, for instance, have been chosen to fight in the extensive jungles we believed Terra to have at the time. The 597th Valhallan have been chosen for their own special talents." I inwardly knew that this meant Jurgen's psychic blankness, and everyone else thought it was our ice world experience. This was one diverse planet if we needed Catchans, us and Emperor knows how many other regiments. "The Steel Legions will provide superb armoured support, as we do not know if we had tanks back then or not." She went on for a few more dull minutes, and I began to relax, remembering our superb armed forces. This shouldn't be too difficult, thinks I.

I should have known better, of course.

((1)) Comrade Colonel Thaddeus Cluarch of the Rakarskian People's 152nd Company of Foot. They employ strange methods, but I cannot be bothered to reiterate them.

((2)) The Kamarian 2nd, 8th, 92nd, 110th, 467th, 796th among others.

((3)) Mott would like to me to point out that we have documented precisely seventy four cases of commissars being murdered by their troops in the 67th Catchans. I pointed out to him that it was a pointless exercise, but I put it in to please him. He doesn't get out very much.

((4)) Inquisitors, of course, never feel out of place when accompanying mere Space Marines to meetings. Besides, the marine in front was nine feet tall, so no one would notice me without it.

(A Journey's End)


	6. The Battle of Dover 1

The responses keep coming in! Thanks, everyone, for all your contributions. They appear to be positive. But, due to popular opinion, here is a short description of Cain and Gaunt (both of whom are canonical warhammer 40k characters written by Sandy Mitchell and Dan Abnett respectively.) Also, just to say that I am trying to keep the English events in real English towns and suchlike, even those which I haven't visited. But I can use google map to keep track of things. I would recommend readers of this doing the same.

About Cain: Commissar Ciaphas Cain habitually writes his adventures in the mode of memoirs, so we can safely presume that he lives through this one. He was (reluctantly) attached to the 597th Valhallan regiment, formerly the 296th/301st, and due to a long series of misunderstandings which make him look like the gallant hero that he really isn't, he is now a Hero of the Imperium and respected member of the regiment (which is commanded by Colonel Regina Kasteen and Major Ruput Brocklaw.) During his adventures, he has formed a slightly more than professional relationship with Inquisitor Amberley Vail of the Ordo Xenos, and she has now taken to editing his memoirs.

About Gaunt: Commissar Colonel Ibram Gaunt currently commands the Tanith 1st "Gaunt's Ghosts", a light infantry regiment which, in the current time period, actually has soldiers from both Tanith and Verghast, which is one of their many successful theatres of war. Gaunt is a man of extreme bravery and impeccable moral character (which contrasts sharply with Cain, although I don't believe that they've met outside these pages) and has led his troops to victory after victory.

About the Ghosts: Tanith was originally a forest world, and was called upon to recruit men for the Imperial guard. These men were given Commissar Gaunt to lead them, and whilst he was present, their world was attacked by chaos forces. Gaunt made the decision to evacuate with the ghosts, leaving Tanith to be utterly destroyed, and has now taken to leading them into battle. They specialise in stealth missions. Notable Tanith troops include Colonel Corbec, Major Rawne, Sniper Master Larkin, Sergeant Varl, Scout Sergeant Mkoll, Sergeant Caffran, Trooper Milo, Doctor Dorden, and a reducing number of others.

Verghast was saved by an Imperial army which contained the ghosts. Under the Act of Consolation, Verghast citizens were allowed to join Imperial Guard regiments. Many of them chose the Ghosts, bringing valuable reinforcements, skills learned in hunting chaos forces through the ruins of their old homes, and (previously unheard of in the Ghosts) female soldiers. Notable Verghastite (to use their proper title) troops include Captain Daur, Sergeant Soric, Trooper (formerly Sergeant) Kolea, Trooper Banda, Trooper Vivvo, Surgeon Curth, and many others.

Other personnel would include Commissar Hark, originally attached to the regiment to watch for signs of Gaunt being disloyal, and Ayatani Zweil, a holy man who was just picked up along the way.

Now, back to the story…

Shas'Vre Montyr had never thought of himself as a T'au of a disloyal nature. He had, for many years, fought for his race, and had won acclaim on many battlefields; on one occasion even becoming _Greater Good_ magazine's "Soldier of the Year." Having lost, by an extremely narrow margin, on the next poll of that publication to the human commander, Urskular Creed, for holding back the Chaos hordes at the Cadian Gate, he considered himself to be as high in his career as he wished. He had paid his taxes without exception, had spent much of his income on helping worthy causes, had even occasionally worked in the fields with Earth Caste workers (with, of course, a camera drone and news team on hand to record his great generosity and humility for posterity.)

He was, in short, as fine a T'au as had ever lived.

So why, he wondered, was he feeling uneasy now?

He had received orders not to engage the enemy. They were only humans, one of the more prolific races of the galaxy. He was quite sure that they would have, eventually, beaten the Martian machine.

And yet…

By all accounts from the other unit commanders across England- across the world- Aun Or'es had issued much the same orders. In places, human troops had been actively routing, without any form of artillery support, and the Tau had not engaged until the Martians were within metres of them. Letting allied soldiers die was not part of his view of the Greater Good.

He had heard that the Ethereal had "plans" for Terra. He had began to guess at the nature of these plans. But the humans, he knew, for all their faults, were not idiots. Whilst it was true that he had seen Imperial Commanders make a great many blunders in his time, he had also seen the same Commanders make brilliant manoeuvres against his troops. There was no reason to presume that they were any different here. It would be only a matter of time until someone started to make guesses.

"Sir! Sir!" The vox crackled with a new speaker. Montyr picked it up.

"Password, Shas'ui?" he growled.

There was a brief pause. "For King!"

"For Country," Montyr replied. "They say that a lot on this word, and I have yet to find out why. Your name, Shas'ui?"

"I am Shas'ui Ukos, sir."

"An odd name, Shas'ui."

If it was possible to shrug on vox, Shas'ui Ukos would have done so. "I have never been quite able to work it out myself, sir. I have messages, sir."

"Out with it, Ukos!" It could be observed that Montyr was not a man who appreciated being kept waiting.

"A message first from Por el'Myen." There was a ruffling of paper as an envelope was opened. "His stock market speculation is not going well, sir."

"Oh?"

"Indeed, sir." The Shas'ui's tone was one of ill concealed mirth. "He appears to have became enraged when he discovered that there were no electronic databases for him to infiltrate. And he attempted to buy shares in a producer of coal, only to find that it had closed down from some sort of strike. The workers apparently wanted to go to their families because of the, and I quote from a human newspaper, 'Bl—dy great tripods'. We have been unable to determine what the hyphens were signifying."

"Oh?" Montyr did love to see the fat idiot getting put in his place. He deserved whatever came to him, in his view; he had got the human translation into a language that had been dead for two thousand years, resulting in them sacrificing one of the precious drones to try and learn it for them. If he chose to subsequently play with the expedition's capital in this manner, it was his own fault that the investments failed.

"Is there anything else of importance?" Montyr asked.

"Yes, sir. The humans have sent military dispatches. On the British front, they intend to flush the Martians out, and they are requesting our support."

"I would prefer a more precise report, Shas'ui."

"Very good, sir. They are sending their first and second divisions- after today's fighting, around thirty thousand men, backed by around one hundred and eighty artillery pieces, of varying size-"

"One hundred and eighty?" Montyr was quietly appauled by the figure.

"One hundred and eighty," Ukos confirmed, in the same voice. "An extraordinarily large figure by our standards, sir."

((And, before I get any complaints, an accurate one. I looked it up on wikipedia, so it must be true.))

"Continue," Montyr said, frantically tapping at the vox keys in readiness to give the news to the Ethereal. Until now, he had not quite grasped the sheer scale of the human forces.

"Yes, sir. They add that they suspect the Martians to be advancing upon their so called 'channel ports'- which is to say, the towns on the coast between the countries of France and England. These would include Folkestone, Dover, Hastings, Eastbourne, and Ramsgate, among many smaller settlements."

"Are these towns defended?" Montyr was already gesturing to an aide, who was summoning a map of the area on one of the Manta's cogitators.

"The countries of Britain and France have apparently recently made a treaty, which they call the Entente Cordiale. Which is French for…" there was the sound of keys rattling- "Cordial Agreement, apparently. As a result of this, and our recent military victories in Continental Europe, the French have agreed to send over some of their own forces by ship. The British Navy is also sending ships to provide support, and the German Empire has promised aid. The type of aid, however, is unspecified. There are, however, no British troops currently in the area."

"Terror."

"Yes, sir."

"Have the humans specified what kind of aid they are requesting?"

"No, sir. But they desire it to be in full force."

"Very good. Continue, Shas'ui."

"Civillians in the area have been encouraged to hide in cellars, to keep doors locked, and to erect precautions against the Black Smoke."

"Precautions? Primitive ones, no doubt?"

"Yes, sir. They apparently consider urinating upon cloth to provide some form of defence."

"A strange custom. Does the dispatch contain anything else?"

"The offensive is to start today, sir. At 12:00 hours."

"I shall make the preparations," Montyr said, perhaps a trifle pompously. "Are there any other messages?"

"There are a couple more, sir. First, the human countries have made peace to concentrate on the Martians. And there is one other, sir. It is addressed to one…ah… do you mind if I quote directly, sir?"

"Go on."

"One Comrade Or'es, sir. I think that it is addressed to our glorious Ethereal, Aun Or'es."

There was a brief silence as the insult sunk in. "Shall we punish this letter writer for his insolence?" Montyr spat. How dare they?

"It would be quite possible to do so, sir," the Shas'ui said. "I have the man right here. His name is Vladimir Lenin, sir."

The name stirred a faint memory in Montyr's mind. "The… communalist?" he asked.

"The very same," a heavily accented voice rasped down the communicator. Montyr had, fortunately, flicked on the translator drone.

"Why do you wish to speak with our Ethereal?" he demanded. "Who you should, may I add, address as 'Aun', or 'His excellency.'"

There was a sound of what humans, apparently, called derision from the other end of the vox. "I am a _communist_. Titles mean nothing to us. And my words are for the Ethereal himself. No one else. Just Aun Or'es. We have much to discuss, and I have little time to do so."

Montyr thought for a moment. "Could you just tell me what you intend to discuss with him?" he asked, exasperatedly. "My colleagues will tell you that I do not like to be kept waiting."

Down below, the Shas'ui nodded urgently.

"Very well." Lenin lowered his voice, looked around, and spoke into the strange receiver. "My plans, comrade, involve the overthrowing of the Russian Tsarist government, establishing a communist state in Russia- by far the fairest and greatest form of government yet devised- and allowing your own people to take part of the landmass of the largest country in the world. Does that sound suitable?"

Montyr cursed under his breath and began to relay the message to Aun Or'es.

The Ethereal, he growled down the communicator, would be able to see Comrade Lenin in a matter of minutes. Meanwhile, he commenced his battle plans.

((It may seem excessive of me to add yet another person's diary entries to the proceedings, but I fear that I must do so. Osbourne's regiment was, alas, consigned to the guarding of a field hospital owing to the heavy casualties that it sustained. This, whilst a doubtless noble task, meant that he was not present at the massive South Eastern "Haig Offensive" (so named because of the General who proposed it.) I must, instead, refer to the entries of one Colonel Charles du Bessieres, of the French 37th Tiralleurs, one of the regiments sent to fight the "Campagne de la Manche" (Campaign of the Channel) as the French called it. His role in the defence of Dover, as we shall see, was to be an important one. I must apologise if my French is at fault.))

At half past nine, our good ship _Le Bonaparte_ (ironic, is it not? The Emperor arriving to help his oldest enemy) docked at Dover, and we began to disembark. Our brave _polieu_s are currently not in the highest of spirits, in part due to the new weapons issued to them.

((I suppose that an explanation is required. The so called "V-B Grenade", so named after its inventors Vivien and Bessieres (no relation to our esteemed author) was much like a conventional hand grenade, which was put into mass production in the face of the vast Martian machines, but was launched out of the barrel of a rifle. This increased its range substantially, and was thought to be capable, if used en masse, of destroying such a machine. Most armies of the world were frantically producing such weapons, only under different names. All types were considered unpopular, largely because of their incredible lack of accuracy. But I digress.))

But, nevertheless, we are willing to fight in the defence of our country, our alliance, and all European civilization. Captain Bonnel has just ordered a meal to be served, and our Sergeant Major has made sure that the looting of Dover is entirely forbidden. As a result, Lieutenant Sebastien (the regimental quartermaster) has resorted to buying rations. I gather that prices have been exceptionally high compared to those of a Parisian bakery. Alas! But, it seemed, he was quite successful in his endeavours.

--

I have just had my breakfast, and I feel that it has been well deserved; our voyage was far from ameliorative to the system, causing sea sickness in our mess. I cannot speak for the lower ranks, but I can only presume that much the same thing occurred.

The morning has been well spent. Three batteries of guns, under Colonel Alençon, have been deployed, atop the famous white cliffs of Dover. The town, I must add, is largely at the bottom of these, with a small area of growth going beyond them onto the higher ground. Every section in our five regiments of infantry has been assigned a building to fortify. We intend to catch the bougres in an ambush! Our guns have been well masked, in buildings of their own, and the men are ready. I have my own hand grenades lying on the desk before me as I write; an ugly looking method to make war, but sadly typical of this age.

((Polieu: Hairy one, slang for French infantryman.))

((I thought it perhaps prudent not to translate this for fear of offending my gentle readers.))

I have just received two articles of intelligence, one alarming, the other extremely pleasing. I will start with the latter.

A gentleman came into my office (a large room in the town hall), and introduced him as a Monsieur Richard Hannay. He was an English mining engineer, who had recently been working in South Africa, and was returning to what he called "The Old Country"- I presume that he means England- and had on his ship a large stash of unused sticks of dynamite.

"Would these be of use, monsieur?" asks he to I, in surprisingly good French.

I called for Captain Ducos, my engineer, and the two of them left to deploy the devices. The explosives, which are quite capable of blasting through solid stone, ought to be more than capable of dispatching a Martian Tripod machine.

The other news is that we have received wires, mere minutes ago, from nearby villages, which suggest that the Martians are rapidly closing with our position here at Dover. They report at least a dozen tripods, and at least one reports some form of "flying machine." Colonel Alençon has been informed, and is apparently trying to construct a special form of carriage for some of our lighter guns to use in order to aim sufficiently high.

I now hear a knock on my door. Now I go into battle, and quite possibly to my end.

((Omnipotent Narrative.))

The countryside was quite. Birds twittered in trees, and the sun continued to shine with all its normal warmth. At another time, it would be a day for lovers to stroll, arm in arm, by streams and through woods, for summer dances to be held, and harvests to be toiled over.

But now, though, the world was at war.

The peace was rent as horse artillery thundered down the country lane. The horses whinnied as the drivers whipped them for all they were worth, and wheels rolled and clattered through potholes and cobble stones. The road was narrow, with hedgerows growing on either side, in the midst of green fields. On another day, the Captain in charge of the battery would have found it pleasant, perhaps ordering a halt to write or sketch about the scenery.

But not this day.

He produced his binoculars from their pouch and attempted to survey the scene. He turned round in disgust after a moment of trying. "How the bloody hell can I find anything with all this rattling?"

The driver shrugged, before turning back to his horses. "Come on, you bastards!" he called to them. "Come on! Gallop, you bastards!"

"Could we perhaps stop at the next hill?" the Captain asked, ducking as the gun swept under a low hanging branch. He found, to his distaste, that his cap had been torn off, revealing his balding pate. "We need to find the tripods, you know."

He heard a familiar humming sound and looked up, shielding his eyes from the wind. It was one of the strange alien battlesuits, as he had heard them call, sweeping down towards him. "The battery will halt!" he barked.

The horses slowed to a trot, which seemed comfortable enough for the battlesuit's captain, who removed its helmet to reveal its blue face. The Captain tried to hide his distaste at the odd features. "Well?" he demanded.

The alien replied in its damned mechanical voice. "We have spotted Martian tripods at around five of your miles to the front of our present position. They appear to be attacking the settlement of Dover."

"Excellent. Very good. We shall unlimber atop the next hill. That will bring us into a long shot of 'em." The Captain then remembered something. "Oh, and could you perhaps slow down a tad? Our horses can't keep up."

The alien gave no comment to this. "We'll be walking at this rate," it muttered to itself, happily in its own tongue, before speeding up to join the two other specks that could be seen.

"At the gallop! Quickly now!" the Captain called, conscious that he was now having to voice his orders over a thunder of what could only be cannon fire. The whips cracked, and the guns hurtled forwards once more.

From her higher vantage point, Shas'ui Shi had a better view of the battlefield than the humans down below, as well as some of the finest sensor technology in the galaxy. "Preparing to scope the area," she muttered into her comm link. She listened for the sounds of her team mates' acknowledgements, and triggered the equipment.

The scopes whirred into life, and she soon had a commanding view of the area. The geography was fairly normal for a coastal settlement: a few outlying hamlets, now burning from the assault of the heat ray, some hills surrounding the town, onto which human "Horse Artillery" was being frantically whipped, and the town itself, sprawling from the cliffs to some distance inland.

Satisfied that the land was similar to the Orbital imagery, she then focussed on the troop positions. To her front and rear, she could make out several great columns of smoke; one marking a human "steam engine's" progress as it chugged towards the fight carrying several thousand human infantry, the other a human battleship, far out to sea, but evidently closing rapidly. Alongside her came more battlesuits, accompanying the expedition's few Piranha scout craft and the human cavalry; the horsemen could be seen below, leaping hedges and galloping forth in perfect formations- a thin line of two ranks, each around fifty metres apart, with a Union Jack flying bravely above each front rank. These forces would make up the vanguard of the attack: two and a half thousand men, in total, both T'au and human, accompanied by a dozen light guns.

Behind came the infantry: the T'au, in their Devilfishes, visible as black specks above the vast cloud of dust that signified the presence of thousands of marching feet. Zooming closer, Shi could see that some of their guns were already unlimbering in readiness to fire, their ugly, squat barrels jutting vertically upwards as sweating crews wrenched breeches open and slammed shells in. She could make out, on the edge of her auditory sensors, a military band playing, as rank after rank of men marched past, their newly issued "Millis Guns"- rifles which were able to launch grenades- shouldered and oiled. Most looked eager, confident, reassured by their new weapons and powerful allies; some were even singing.

"Our leaders march with fusees and we with hand grenades," a company sang to the tune of a band. "We throw them from the glacis, about the enemies's ears, Sing tow, row, row, row, row, row, the British Grenadiers!" Another verse soon began.

((That was from "The British Grenadiers", which can be found on youtube.))

Soldiers, Shi thought as she re aligned her sensors, were remarkably similar across sentient races. All sought to hide their fear, disguise it or hold it back with a brave show of making war seem glorious, or even fun! It was a necessary act, in whatever army one came from. She remembered how they rattled their rifle butts on the floor of the Devilfish as they prepared to disembark on Damocles; watching Kroot chant to each other as they prepared to charge an Imperial gun emplacement. She knew, without even glancing, that most of them would ensure that lucky charms were in place, that they were checking that their equipment was _just so_, that they didn't seem too afraid. Even knife bonded teams did the same thing, but it they hid it better.

She now turned to the battlefield. With the naked eye, it would have resembled what the humans would have called Hell: a great, churning mass of smoke and fog, out of which fire blasted and thunder rolled. Among it strode great, looming creatures, towering above the shattered husks of buildings. A great roar suddenly echoed out, making Shi clap her armoured hands to the sides of her helmet and curse her sensors. She then focussed her eyes upon the battle.

A Martian was now falling, legs having been blown to fragments. Someone cried something out, which was taken up by the whole defence.

"_Amour sacré de la Patrie!"_

In the midst of the rubble that had once been city streets, she could see tripods advancing in a perfect line, heat rays torching buildings under a wild and darkened sky. An officer suddenly ran at one, gripping a grenade in one hand and his sword in the other. He was clad in a filthy blue coat and red trousers, and he looked old, but he had a Colonel's Epaulettes, and his face was set. With a cry, he threw the grenade at the towering Martian, and swung down his sword.

"_Feu!_"

As the Martian's Heat ray swung down to face the little human before it, gun barrels poked through windows and holes in rubble, and fired. A volley of grenades slashed into the Martian.

Many failed to detonate altogether, simply rolling onto the ground. Some missed, as soldiers- not used to their new weapons- failed to aim properly. The front of a shop was blasted to fragments by several stray bombs.

But some grenades- a handful- managed to hit their target. The Martian gave a great "ULLA!" as great chunks were blasted out of its metal hide, the heat ray flailing wildly. The Colonel raised his sabre to stab into a hole, and barked another order.

"_Conduis, soutiens nos bras vengeurs!"_

And above it all, the guns ground on, and spat. There was little order to their firing now, for there was little order to the battle. It was a bloody, mucky brawl, fought with grenade and gun against smoke and heat; human heart and soul, sweat and tears, against inhuman steel and artifice. It was the destructive might of two species, both considered the greatest of their worlds, all their rage and hate, all poured into a few square miles of shot scarred ground on the English coast.

"_Liberté, Liberté cher-"_ a heat ray fired below, ending the singer's defiance.

"Incoming!" a vox barked into her ear. She looked up frantically, and flung herself to the left just in time. Something wedge shaped swept past, a heat ray slung in its underbelly. A shell suddenly detonated mere metres from them, blasting shrapnel and fire into the air. Warning sirens began to sound in her ears as the battlesuit shuddered from a hit.

"Disperse!" she called, attempting to fly and survey the damage at the same time. A large piece of shrapnel was buried in her chest. The first thought to hit her was "Traitors!"

The second was that, as far as they knew, the humans didn't have any anti aircraft guns. It was therefore, in all likelihood, accidental.

The third was "Keep fighting, damn it!"

The battlesuits swept in, and the battle for Dover began in earnest.

On the ground, the Captain of Horse Artillery could now see the fighting. His guns were atop the hill crest, and he now had a commanding view of the battle. Above, he could see the battlesuits flitting and darting around… something in the air, shooting at it with their weapons. Below was a solid wall of smoke and fire, into which leviathans marched and burned themselves. "Unlimber the gun!" he barked. The battery slewed to a halt on the dry grass, kicking up clods of earth. The gunners worked frantically to ready their weapon, only too conscious of the nearness of the Martians.

"Load the gun!" The first gunner now heaved the ammunition box open and hefted a shell, which he handed to the second gunner. The second gunner wrenched the breech open, and slammed the shell in, before wrenching it shut. "Gun crew will stand ready for firing!" The first and second gunners stepped back, leaving the third man to fire the weapon. The gun blazed as it crashed back, a metres long muzzle blast scarring the air, as twelve pounds of explosives and metal was lobbed through the air. Five other guns boomed mere moments later. From further back, the howitzers could now be heard, adding their own shells to the first volley. Shells now began to rain down on

"Load the gun!" On the hill, a horseman watched the fall of shells through a pair of binoculars. He then raised a pair of flags in a long sequence of signals. Some miles behind the hill, he was being watched by the Howitzer commanders, who now began their adjustments to the aim of their weapons. The Devlifishes now began to power forwards, all pretences of keeping pace with the humans now absent as the battle neared. The great marching column of British troops now quickened its pace, the order being issued to load arms. The singing slowed, and then stopped, replaced by the panting of men being ordered to run whilst carrying heavy equipment into battle.

A Colonel of the Dragoons looked for a moment at his men. Each man had the strange new fangled "Millis Gun", which was loaded and ready. Atop the hill right in front of him, he could see guns firing. No self respecting cavalry officer could resist a fight, and the Colonel was no exception. More prudent men were given to remarking that the horse had all the brains, the rider all the money, but the Colonel was not such a man. He drew his sword. It was a long, heavy bladed weapon, perfect for clubbing down an upraised rifle butt or shattering a lighter sabre. But, for now, he simply swung it down and muttered to the Regimental Sergeant Major, "By the trot, I would think."

"By the trot!" The RSM bawled, mouth wide, and the cavalry started forwards at a rapid trot, harnesses jingling. "Ready your weapons, lads!" the RSM added, raising his own Millis Gun. The bugler played out the orders, as the horsemen approached the hill crest. They rode past the gunners and then, when they were beautifully arrayed on the slope, the charge began.

"To hell!" The Colonel cried, spurring his horse forwards. "To hell!" his men cried, following, hooves thundering, as the horses tore down the hillside.

They may have lasted for as long as they did because the Martians didn't know what to make of them. They saw a long line of men, shouting atop their strange animals, simply riding straight at them. This was so utterly different to any other method of fighting that they had encountered that they simply had no idea of what to do. When they finally appreciated that they could pose a threat, only one tripod was in any position to attack them, the other eight survivors fighting their way through Dover's streets. The tripod turned, and began its strange march towards them.

"Steady, men, steady!" the Colonel cried, raising his Millis Gun. The bugle rang out once more, as the front charging rank readied arms. "Fire on command!"

The heat ray spat. Death rippled along the front rank as men and horses began to fall, screaming as they were burned by the ray. "Fire!" the Colonel barked, as his regiment disintegrated around him. His voice could scarcely be heard above the sound, oddly like metal being torn, of agonised horses, but he was obeyed.

The Millis Guns fired their volley. Close on three hundred weapons fired, at a range close on ten yards, and close on three hundred shots hit. Explosions wracked the metal surface. "ULLA!" was heard across the valley, as the machine teetered, and toppled to the ground. The horsemen rode on, drawing swords and slashing down on to it for luck. "To victory!" the Colonel spoke again.

The last charge of the dragoons was brought to an end as a heat ray fired from Dover, killing them virtually instantly.

((Yes, there was a mention of a Martian flying machine in War of the Worlds. This story has well and truly returned to the site, and I will add another update as soon as possible. Thank you for waiting so long! I hope that it has been worth it.

Oh, and the French troops were singing La Marseillaise, their national anthem.

It can also be seen that the human scientists have not been idle. I do not consider this to be too strange; at the time, one of the world's greatest arms races was beginning in Europe. With the introduction of the T'au, and their extremely advanced technology, it would not be inconceivable that humanity would try to catch up in some small ways. Expect to see some fairly conventional innovations for now, which is to say merely a year or two ahead of their time- and some bigger stuff later. Like in part 2 of this chapter.))


End file.
